


Unrequited

by BethXP



Series: Old Sherlock Fics [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethXP/pseuds/BethXP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Please be aware this fic is here for cataloguing and storing purposes only. It was written by a young teenager who was new to fanfiction and I hope to god has improved over the past few years. I'd rather not be told how poorly written/badly spelt/nonsense story this fic is because believe me I know, so if you read it it is at your own risk. This has been a warning by the writer of this fic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am uploading a lot of old fics over the next week or so and so I am putting this warning on all of them but people have been so lovely about these things and I really appreciate it so thank you.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unrequited

One of the easiest things to do is to hide in plain sight. And no one was better at it than James Moriarty. Every now and again, when he was certain they were home, Jim would stand on the pavement and watch his boys dance in their apartment. The view from the street gave immediate access to the living room windows on the first floor, and Jim's heart would flutter every time a shadow walked past the curtain. 

James Moriarty owned half of the houses on Baker Street. Through various aliases and false companies of course, there was no paper or money trail that could possibly lead back to him. But this meant that he could come and go as he pleased, no questions asked. 

Today he had decided to take on the role of a boiler man. A classic, but one he didn't play often as to not arouse suspicion. Sherlock was sharp after all. 

Jim pulled up in his van and parked outside of the house opposite 221b, four buildings down. He slipped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth before getting out of the driver's seat and knocking on the door of the chosen house. He knocked four times, then paused, then knocked another two times before the door opened and an elderly man peered anxiously round. 

"Come to check your boiler," Jim spoke in a slightly cockney accent, no hint of his natural Irish twang. The old man did not question the unannounced arrival and stepped aside to let him in. Jim glared at the man after he had shut the door, and he shrivelled away into the back room like a spider disappearing into a crack in the wall. 

Now free to do as he pleased, Jim made his way silently up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms on the first floor. Like in all the houses Jim owned, the room with the best view to Sherlock's flat was to be kept like a spare room, so that Jim could use it when he wished to be undisturbed. 

Knowing full well to stay clear of the window, he perched himself on the end of the bed with his back against the wall. He pulled out a high quality pair of binoculars that allowed him to see across the street and into the living room of 221b. He could make out the outline of someone in a tight fitted suit playing a violin whilst pacing the room. It was times like these that Jim wished he had installed a microphone in Sherlock's apartment, but that would have been too risky. He had _seen_ Sherlock play numerous times but he had yet to hear the talent of this consulting detective. Well, perhaps after today that would change. 

Jim knew he could not stay for long, boiler men are never any longer than 20 minutes and Sherlock would notice if that van was parked outside for too long. But that was okay. He had deliberately allowed himself these 20 minutes to enjoy his boy in his natural habitat before the show began. 

Much to Jim's annoyance, the time went much too fast and now he had to head back downstairs to his van. 

"Sir," he called and the old man who lived in the building appeared, knowing what he had to do. He opened the door for Jim, who stepped outside and turned, tipping the baseball cap he was wearing. "Good day sir." The man quickly shut the door in fear and Jim smiled at the power he knew he had. He walked over to his van, pulling out his mobile in the process. He typed out a text and hit send.

 _Get ready. JM_

He then slid into the front seat of the van and drove it down the road and round the corner, out of sight of Baker Street. He parked three streets away and then got out and stood on the pavement waiting. Only four seconds past before a taxi pulled up on the curb at Jim's feet. He got in and put his feet up on the seat.

"Don't put your feet on my seat," said a stern voice. Jim could see dark eyes staring at him in the reflection of the rear view mirror. Jim glares back at him before they both burst into fits of giggles.

"I see you've taken your roll as taxi driver very seriously Seb."

"Well, I don't want to let you down sir, and this is a very nice taxi," he added, smiling at his boss. 

"Yes I am impressed. You must tell me how you got it." Jim's phone buzzed, telling him he had a message.

_Done._

"But later, we are on a strict schedule and we do not have time to waste." He checked his watch. "Pull out in five, four, three, two, one."

Sebastian started the taxi up again and pulled it out into the road. As he turned the corner Jim slipped from the seat and crouched on the floor of the vehicle, out of sight of anyone who might be looking in. 

"I see him sir."

"Good. You know what to do." 

Jim did not need to see to know what was happening. A few moments ago Sherlock had received a call from his precious pathologist at Bart's telling him a body had arrived that he could use for one of his experiments. In the excitement for science Sherlock had jumped out of his seat and grabbed his coat. John Watson, having no interest in watching Sherlock abuse corpses, would have told Sherlock that he would not wait up for him and that he would call if a case came up. Sherlock would then have skipped down the stairs, out the door and

"Taxi!" 

Bingo.

Jim shrunk into the shadows of the car as he felt the vehicle slow down. The door in front of him swung open and a mass of coat filled the back seat.

"Bart's hospital," Sherlock told the driver as he settled himself down on the seat. Jim reached into his breast pocket and Sherlock caught the movement in the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the master criminal crouched down at his feet.

"What the-"

But before he could react Jim pounced on him like a cat on it's prey. In one swift movement he had jammed a needle into Sherlock's leg and forced the contents into his blood stream. He only had to watch as Sherlock's eyes became unfocused and distant. He began to sway back and forth with the movement of the car and then he finally flopped over to the side. 

Jim grinned greedily as he took his seat next to Sherlock, and slowly stroked the cheek of the unconscious detective.

"Don't worry my love, I will look after you."

*

Sherlock woke with a start as a stranger threw a bucket of ice cold water over his body. He shuddered unwillingly, feeling the constraints around his hands and ankles. He was upright in the crucifix position, being held up by chains that were padlocked to metal handles on the wall. His feet were just brushing the floor so he was able to preserve some strength and not hang to death. 

A glance around the room told him he was in some sort of cell, possibly an abandoned asylum or prison, Moriarty would almost definitely own both of these things. It was cold and damp; a nasty smell filled Sherlock's nostrils and churned his stomach, the drug that was forced into his system probably enhancing the effects.

"Where is he?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the stranger. The only response he got was a punch to the chest. With that degree of accuracy and strength, Sherlock decided this man had army training. "Where IS he?" he asked again. Once more the only response was another blow, to the face this time. He felt his lip split and the blood trickle into his mouth, the taste of iron on his tongue. "You think this is the worst I've had?" mocked Sherlock. "I've taken on dozens of men, with weapons. I've almost died so many times I've lost count! Your so called torture bores me. Now," Sherlock's eyes grew dark as he snarled at the stranger, "WHERE IS HE?"

*

"Are you looking for me?" asked a high pitched voice from the doorway. Jim walked into Sherlock's view and smiled at him like an old friend. He had changed from his disguise from earlier to his usual designer blue suit that pulled him in attractively at the waste. "It is _so_ good to see you." His eyes were dilated to such an extent that there was nothing but black in the iris. 

"What do you want with me Moriarty?" Jim straightened his back and paced the room as he considered.

"Well, the thing is," he sung in his unmistakable Irish accent, "you and I, we're two of a kind." He pulled out a red lollipop from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. "So it seems unfair that we should be kept apart. Don't you agree Seb?"

Sebastian nodded, a cold expression on his face. 

"Oh sorry," Jim pulled out a second lollipop and offered it to Sherlock, "would you like one? It's strawberry flavour," he added, as if that would be the clincher for Sherlock to accept. Sherlock's lip curled upwards in disgust and he turned his face away from the sugar on a stick. "No," Jim mused, "you're more of a lemon man aren't you? Sour" He let the last word hang in the air as he darted his head from side to side like a serpent, debating his next move.

"What do you want with me?" Sherlock asked again, the suppression of anger getting more and more difficult. Jim suckled on his lollipop, pulling a sarcastic puppy dog eyed expression at Sherlock. 

"I just want you to _like_ me, we belong together Sherlock, don't you see that?!" He leaned towards Sherlock, his lips brushing against Sherlock's ear. He whispered ever so softly, "we are the same, our minds are in sync, and you know it. Together we could rule the world!"

A laugh escaped from Sherlock's throat.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me?" Jim appeared to be genuinely hurt by this response. He had big plans for the time when Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty joined forces to become the greatest power to walk the earth. "You kill people for fun. You threaten the people I I work with. You kidnap and drug me, and then tell me you want to us to work together?"

Jim jumped on the spot. "Yes!"

Sherlock laughed again, the master criminal was revealing himself to be a mere child wanting attention. 

"I will not work with you, torture me how you like I do not care." Sherlock's eyes darted to the man he now knew as Seb as he said this. "Or you can let me go. Let me go and I can continue to be that pawn in your sick and twisted games. I will not be your partner, but your opponent. Surely that is more fun?"

Jim shook his head. "That was poor, Sherlock, really poor. You are the smartest man on the planet, second to me, and _that_ is the best you come up with? No, no, no." Jim walked over to Sebastian and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Do what you do best my dear." Sebastian immediately lurched forward and struck a blow hard enough to render many a man unconscious. Sherlock took it with a grunt and Seb pulled back for another swing. 

Jim sat in a chair in the corner of the dark room watching the spectacle, the corner of his mouth bent upward ever so slightly and his eyes shining with glee. 

Sherlock endured half an hour of abuse before showing any signs of weakening. 

"I told you I would not turn," he said between spits of blood. "You might as well kill me." There was pure hatred in his eyes, his hands forced into tights fists and his teeth gritted.

"Oh Sebastian I've never seen him look more like me!" Jim cried. "I feel so proud!"

"I am nothing like you," Sherlock growled before he could stop himself. He breathed deeply to collect himself and then said, "I have solved every puzzle you have given me, I have told you I will not join you, what do you want with me?!"

"Haven't you got it yet Sherlock?" Jim tilted his head to the side, disappointment across his face. "I want _you_ , and only you."

"But I don't want you, Jim. You really should just pursue your muscle here." He nodded in the direction of Sebastian. "You have much more in common with him."

"Oh I already have Seb," Jim caressed the chest of his action man. The 'muscle' did not seem to respond to the touch, but he did not shy away from it either. "But it's not _special_ like the relationship we have is it?"

"You really should just give up, you know," Sherlock said in a low voice, a smirk dancing on his swollen lips. "You're really not my type."

The sound of a phone beeping ends the flirtations momentarily.

"Now who would be texting you?" Jim asked, strolling over to the struggling Sherlock. "Let me check for you." Jim began to slowly dip his hand into Sherlock's pockets, enjoying himself immensely. His hand hovered every so slightly too long over the nipple as he went from one breast pocket to the other. He grinned so that every pearly white tooth was on display. He fingered the mobile out of the last pocket he went into and rested it in the palm of his hand, opening the message.

"You alright Sherlock?" Jim read aloud. "Just letting you know that Mycroft rang, _again_ , and he wants you to call him when you have the chance. John." A flash of emotion swept across Sherlock's face. It was there for less than a second, but Jim had not missed it. He had recognised it for what it was too. It was the same expression he himself wore every time he caught a glimpse of Sherlock at his window. It was the look of _love_.

In that moment Jim knew exactly what he had to do. He honestly believed he could have bullied Sherlock into joining him but he knew now that that would never happen. No. There was only one option left to him. And he was determined to follow it through. 

"I will be right back," he said seductively to Sherlock. He pressed a kiss onto his first and second finger before transferring the fingers to Sherlock's lips.

He returned not two minutes later with a laptop in hand. With his back to Sherlock he set it up, ready for the final show. 

"What are you doing?" shouted Sherlock from behind him but Jim gave no reply. In his head he was laughing at Sherlock, laughing at how funny this would be. _You will pay Sherlock, you and your precious army doctor will pay for you not loving me. We belong together Sherlock; it is silly to deny your feelings. But if you are just going to throw them away on a man like that! Well, we can't have that now can we?_

With the equipment set up Jim stood, twisting his head to Sebastian.

"That will be all, thank you Seb. You may return home for the night." Sebastian inclined his head and left without a word. 

Jim waited until the door closed before he moved. He took out Sherlock's phone that he had placed in his pocket and typed out a text. 

_John, I need you to go onto your computer, there is a file I need you to look over immediately. I do not care what you are currently busying yourself with, just do it. SH_

He hit send and then began to tap on the keyboard of the computer. Sherlock had not missed the use of his phone.

"What did you just do? Who did you text?"

"There is no need to worry my dear; every one you know is perfectly safe."

Sherlock's phone beeped once more and Jim read the text.

_Fine. I am in my emails send it to me. JW_

Jim smiled serenely. He tapped out a few more commands on the keyboard and found himself looking into the flat of 221b Baker Street. John was reading the newspaper and did not look up immediately.

"John," Jim sang. John looked up at his computer, and then dived at it as he saw Jim's face looking back at him.

"Moriarty, how the hell-" he froze. "Where is he? Do you have him Moriarty?"

"Have who?" replied Jim innocently.

"My god." John rose from his seat, attempting to make a dash for the phone.

"Stay exactly where you are Dr. Watson," Jim commanded. The strength in his voice was enough to force John back in his seat and look at him.

"What do you want Moriarty?" asked John darkly. 

"Not you, to be honest." Jim stood up and pulled a piece of cloth out of his pocket. He then picked up the laptop and placed it on the chair he had sat in earlier. He then dragged the chair so that it was directly in front of Sherlock so that John could see everything that was about to happen. He walked around Sherlock so that he stood behind him and Sherlock began to cry,

"Whatever happens John, I want you to know-" but Jim jammed the cloth into his mouth before he could finish his sentence. 

"Hush now," Jim ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls and with a yank pulled back his head so that it was forced to rest on his shoulders. "You see the thing is John, I love this man dearly, and I have given him the option to be with me. But he made it quite clear that he intended to turn me down, and not just that, but reject me for someone else." Jim pointed a knife that had appeared from nowhere at the computer screen. His expression suddenly changed, the devil was on his face. "For _you_." He calmed himself once more. "But you see I am not going to let that happen. Sherlock and I were going to live together, to rule the world, but you got in the way. Well I am not going to let you take him from me." The knife he had pointed at John now hovered over Sherlock's exposed throat. 

"No, please!" cried a panicked John, but it was too late.

In one swift movement the sharp blade had been pressed into and dragged across the neck of Sherlock Holmes. Blood sprayed out in all directions as Sherlock's eyes bulged. A gurgle escaped his lips before his head lolled to one side as a sign of death.

John stared at his computer screen unable to take his eyes off his flatmate. Jim began to laugh at the horror on John's face, his insanity over taking his mind. The cackles snapped John into army mode. 

"James Moriarty. I am going to hunt you down, and I am going to kill you." He sounded like the most dangerous assassin in the world at that moment, but Jim did not care. He tilted his head to the side, feeling sorry for the simpleness of John's mind.

"That's very interesting John, considering I am about to do this." Jim dropped the knife and let hit fall to the floor with a clang. He then reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out an old fashioned revolver with an ivory handle, and pressed the barrel to his temple.

"Don't you dare Moriarty, don't you DARE!"

A wink. The final gesture made by the greatest criminal this world will ever know. But one that would haunt the mind of John Watson forever. And that was the reason, on that night in a dirty cell, for the smile on James Moriarty's lips as he pulled the trigger.


End file.
